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And yet

I bear a burden like an ass, Spur-gall’d, and tir'd, by jauncing * Bolingbroke.

Enter Keeper, with a dish. Keep. Fellow, give place; here is no longer stay.

[To the Groom. K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis tine thou wert

away. Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say.

(Exit. Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ? K. Rich. 'Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. Keep. My lord, I dare not; sir Pierce of Exton,

who Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster and

thee! Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.

[Beats the Keeper. Keep. Help, help, help!

Enter Exton, and servants, armed.

K. Rich. How now? what means death in this

rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument.

(Snatching a weapon, and killing one. Go thou, and fill apother room in bell.

(He kills another, then Extou strikes him

down. That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person.- Exton, thy fierce

haud Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own

land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sivks downward, here to die.

[Dies. Jaunting

Erton. As full of valour, as of royal blood :
Both have I spilt; 0, would the deed were good!
For now the devil, that told me, I did well,
Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell.
This dead king to the living king I'll bear;-
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.


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Windsor. A room in the Castle.

Flourish. Enter Boling broke, and York, with

lords and attendants.
Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we

Is-that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire;
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.

Enter Northumberland.

Welcome, my lord : What is the news?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happi.

The next news is, I have to London sent
The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent:
The manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in this paper here.

[Presenting a paper. Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy

pains ; And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.

Enter Fitzwater.

Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London The heads of Brocas, and Sir Bennet Seely;

Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,
That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.

Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot. Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.

Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. Percy. The grand conspirator, abbot of West

With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy,
Hath yielded up his body to the grave;
But here is Carlisle living, to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
Boling. Carlisle, this is

your doom
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy thy lise;
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strite:
For though mine enemy thou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.

Enter Exton, with attendants bearing a coffin.

Exton. Great king, within this coffiu I present Thy buried fear: herein all breathless lies The mightiest of thy greatest enemies, Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. Boling. Exton, I thank thee not; for thou hast

wrought A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, Upon my head, and all this famous land. Exton. From your owu mouth, my lord, did I

this deed. Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, Nor do I thee; though I did wish him dead, I hate the murderer, love him murdered. The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word, nor princely favour: With Cain go wander through the shade of night, And never show thy head by day nor light.Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, That blood should sprinkle nie, to make me grow:

Come, mouru with me for what I do lament,
And put on sullen black incontinent;
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood off from my guilty hand:-
March sadly after; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier. (Exeunt.

* Immediately.

This play is one of those which Shakspeare has ap. parently revised ; but as success in works of inven. tion is not always proportionate to labour, it is not finished at last with the happy force of some other of his tragedies, nor can be said much to affect the pas sions, or enlarge the understanding.




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